


Falling

by taintedcrimson



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-05-14
Updated: 2013-11-06
Packaged: 2017-12-11 20:01:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,475
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/802652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/taintedcrimson/pseuds/taintedcrimson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What if a cursed Nicholas Gold rescued Belle from the asylum and helped her regain a life? What if they were close friends, and then something more? What if, when Emma arrived in Storybrooke, everything changed?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

  
_Farewell, this blackened eye  
You learned your lessons falling down  
Far behind and tracing footsteps home. _

~ The Birthday Massacre, “Falling Down”

She was up with the sun again, the first streaks of pink coming into the sky as the tendrils of nightmare loosened their hold on her mind. It was with a gasp that she woke, asleep one moment and suddenly, abruptly awake, the feeling of fingertips on her shoulder fading only as she sucked in that first breath of clean, fresh air.

It was perhaps slightly too cold outside to be sleeping with the window open, but she always left it cracked even just a little, letting in the smell of saltwater and trees along with the crisp chill. This morning, she needed the certainty that freedom was still in her hands, and so she threw open every window in the apartment, tugging on a sweatshirt to battle the numbing breeze.

She slipped into her sneakers and grabbed her iPod on the way out the door, setting her usual playlist to shuffle. The strong opening notes filled her world as she stretched on her building’s front stoop before taking off, her chestnut ponytail trailing behind her as she flew along the streets of her sleepy little town. 

There was only a flicker of movement in Granny’s Diner, the early morning crew getting ready for the breakfast rush that wasn’t quite awake yet. Lights were on in a few windows as turned into the residential areas, the citizens of Storybrooke blearily stumbling onward toward their weekend, so close they could almost taste it. Her steps slowed just slightly as she neared a familiar pink Victorian home, glancing into the windows of the front rooms in hopes of spying that face she knew like the back of her hand.

He wasn’t there. Not this morning, it was still too early on the fine spring day, he would be sleeping in until the sun was higher in the sky and it was closer to time to open the shop. His absence behind the panes of glass was a disappointment, but she refused to let it weigh on her heart – it was Thursday, and she would be seeing him very soon.


	2. Chapter One

  
_You don’t learn to walk by following rules.  
You learn by doing, and by falling over._

~ Richard Branson

She walked through the still-dark shop and straight into the kitchen, having an early start on her morning routine, but knowing it was easy enough for something to go wrong when baking was involved. She set the oven to warm, checking on it after a few minutes to ensure it was actually doing its job – it was such an old (and slightly unreliable) piece, she was constantly worried it would one day simply break down and need to be replaced, an expense she certainly did not need. It was hard enough to pay the rent on both her apartment and the store, repay her business loans, and somehow manage to eat everyday; she didn’t need to add expensive things breaking to her weekly budget.

Just as she was elbow-deep in dough, there came a familiar knock on her back door. “Come on in, Henry!” she called, smiling as the boy peered around the door before stepping into the warm kitchen.

“Good morning, Belle!” he greeted her very properly while hanging his backpack on a hook on the wall beside her collection of aprons.

Belle cut butter into the dough, rolling it between her fingers with movements that didn’t require thought, they were so well rehearsed and easily recalled. “Good morning, Henry,” she replied. “How are you enjoying your freedom from school? You still have a few more days left in your break, right?”

He nodded as he helped himself to a few of the frozen blueberries waiting to be added to the scone mix, knowing his friend wouldn’t mind in the slightest so long as he actually ate them and didn’t try putting them back in the bowl. It only took once for that particular lecture to sink in. “We go back on Monday, but I’m ready to go back. I like school, and my mom’s been really busy this week.”

Belle shook some blueberries into the dough and said in a too-serious-to-be-real tone, “So the only time you come visit me is when you’re bored and have nothing better to do. I see how it is.”

The look on his face was absolutely priceless. “Hey, that’s not what I meant! I-“ Her laugh interrupted his protest and he gaped at her in a child’s shock. “You were teasing me!” he accused, not really all that made because she was Belle, and who could be mad at the sweet lady who ran the town’s bookstore?

“Of course I was,” she agreed, pressing the dough into her trusty scone pan. “You make it too easy.” She slipped the pan into the oven and set the timer. “Have you had breakfast yet? Need me to make you something?” she asked over her shoulder as she washed up.

Henry shook his head. “Nope, I’m good. Can I look around the store?" 

She agreed with a smile and ushered him out into the bookstore proper, turning on the lights behind him. By the time he’d finished looking around the children’s section, she’d finished another two batches of scones and was bringing them out to arrange in the display case.

“So what treasure did you find this time?” she inquired, accepting the book when he handed it over. The Castle in the Attic, the cover pronounced, and Belle smiled as she rang up the purchase and accepted his ten dollar bill. “This is a fantastic choice,” she assured him, hanging back the book with his change and receipt. “You’re going to love it.”

They walked back to the kitchen together, where was a scone was wrapped up and waiting for him. “Take this,” she instructed, handing him the white paper bag with a note attached with a bit of tape. “And would you mind dropping that order off at the diner for me?”

“Oh, that’s right, it’s Thursday,” he mumbled to himself. “You’re having lunch with Mr. Gold.” Grinning, he gave her a playful salute and announced, “Fear not, fair lady, the message shall be delivered even if it kills me!”

“Well, let us hope it doesn’t come to that,” she replied with all seriousness. “Now, off you go!”

Goodbyes were exchanged as Henry dashed out the door with backpack and new goodies in hand, and for a moment all Belle could think of was how she longed to return to the days of being that carefree and happy.

\- - - 

All eyes were on her as she stepped into Granny’s, the usual lunchtime chatter hushing as she stepped up to the counter. Belle plastered a smile on her face, used to the stares – she was the woman who had very publically been released from the hospital’s mental ward, who was a business partner with the man who owned the entire town, who always seemed sweet and innocent until someone said something against the only person who had ever fought for her. Why wouldn’t people stare at her? She was sure a number of her customers only came by to see the Crazy Bookworm of Storybrooke; as long as they kept buying when they visited, she had no problem with their ulterior motives.

“Two burgers, fries, and iced teas,” Ruby said, placing the bag and drink tray on the counter. Belle handed over the money and her friend ran it through the register, but paused before handing over the change. “Belle, why do you do this every week? You can’t really enjoy having lunch with that man; I can barely stand him being here for dinner, and all I have to do is say ‘Hello’ and ‘Here’s the check’, nevermind having an actual conversation.”

Belle’s smile saddened a little, her thin fingers wrapping around the coins and pressing them into her palm. “He’s my friend, Ruby,” she said softly. “I don’t understand why that’s so difficult for everyone to understand.” She didn’t wait for a response; she took her order and left, ignoring every single person in the room and everyone she passed on the street. In that moment, only one person mattered, and she didn’t want his lunch getting cold.


	3. Chapter Two

  
_"Be slow to fall into friendship; but when thou art in,  
continue firm and constant."_

~ Socrates

The jingling of the bell above the door of the pawnshop was enough to soothe her agitation away, his smile a balm to her soul. "Good afternoon, my dear," his Scottish brogue rolled over her, wrapping a warmth around her heart that would be hard to chase away.

"Good afternoon, Nicholas," she returned the greeting, crossing the room to put the bag of food into his outstretched hand. "I had a craving for burgers today, I hope you don't mind."

"Of course not," he assured her with a dismissing wave of his hand. "A burger sounds positively delicious right now."

Belle couldn't keep a grin off her face at that, though honestly she would have been shocked if he'd said anything else. He was always completely agreeable with her lunchtime choices, and sometimes she thought he would be perfectly happy with just a peanut butter sandwich so long as she showed up for their Thursday lunches. Truthfully, she would be, too. Nicholas Gold was her truest friend in the world and she wouldn't rather be anywhere else in that moment, despite what the rest of the town might say. She would face all their pitchforks and torches without an ounce of fear in her heart if that were what it took to have him at her side.

They took their usual places at the small table in his back room, spreading out the food and sharing a puddle of ketchup between them for their fries. Their conversation was easy and relaxed. She told him about Henry's visit that morning, enjoying the way his eyes danced at the mention of the child who had charmed just about everyone in Storybrooke. In return, he told her about a sale he had made the day before to Henry's mother, Mayor Regina Mills, of a fake Tiffany lamp that was such a good knockoff it would take a real expert to spot the telling marks. Of course, Mayor Mills had absolutely no idea it was a fake, and Mr. Gold had no intention of her ever becoming the wiser.

Their mutual hatred for the mayor was one of the things that had originally sparked the friendship between them. He could have just left her to fend for herself after helping her be released from the hospital, but knowing Regina had been the one to help put her in there had kept him attached and wanting to aid her in rebuilding a life of her own. She honestly didn't know if she could have made it through those months without his support; he'd helped her find an apartment, given her a loan, and shown her how to run a business. Belle knew without a doubt that she would have been forced back into her father's home if it weren't for her dear friend, and that was something she would not have survived intact.

Wiping his fingers on a napkin, Gold eyed the bag beside her chair and inquired, "So what book has caught your fancy today?" He knew better than most how voracious a reader she was, and he had long since ceased to be amazed by the number of tomes she went through in a week. But he probably wasn't expecting her to haul the 700-page _House of Leaves_ out of her bag. "Good lord, darling, however did you fit that in there?" he asked in astonishment.

"Magic, of course," she quipped with a smirk. "I've only just started it, but I think I'm more fascinated with the way the author writes than the actual story. Here, see what I mean?" She scooted her chair closer, flipping through the pages to show him the variety of fonts, pages filled with oddly placed text or barely any words at all, and the footnotes and annotations that, at first glance, made absolutely no sense. She was overly enthusiastic about digging into the text and unearthing the meaning behind the author's decisions, and he was indulgent of her ways, simply smiling and offering comments appropriately as she rambled on.

Finally she paused for breath, leaning back in her chair and looking at him with her bright blue eyes. "Sorry, guess I got a little carried away there," she apologized, a blush coloring her cheeks that only deepened with his next words.

"Belle, you know I'll listen to you go on about your books anytime you like," he assured her in such a gentle way that she felt something flutter in her chest. Something she quickly pushed aside. None of that now. "You gave me more than fair warning when I helped you set up the shop," he continued, teasing her with a smile. "I've dug my own grave in this matter."

The beautiful bookworm rolled her eyes at him and stuffed the book lovingly back into her bag. "Some days I wonder why I put up with you," she teased right back, gathering up their trash from the meal.

She didn't know how often he wondered that very same thing.

\---

  
_"The drops of rain make a hole in the stone,  
not by violence, but by oft falling."_

~ Lucretius

It rained that night, the dark storm clouds rolling in that evening before the sun had set to warn the town of its sinister intentions. Belle hurried through her closing procedures, her hands trembling slightly as she scribbled a note to post on the door apologizing to customers for closing a little early that night. The sky opened up on her as she sprinted the few blocks to her apartment, soaking her through in minutes.

Her heels clacked against the pavement as she ran through the sheets of icy rain, trying to shield her bag from the downpour but more concerned with just getting inside. When her building was finally in sight, she pushed herself even faster, cursing her choice in shoes that morning. She nearly tripped over her own feet as she scrambled up the stairs, a clap of thunder drowning out the world.

Belle threw herself into the building and up the stairs to her third floor apartment, not stopping her frantic flight until she was locking the door behind her. She didn't notice the river she left in her wake, didn't think twice about dropping her bag somewhere on the floor as she moved through the apartment to the bathroom. Shivers wracked her body as she peeled off the dripping clothes, leaving them in a pile before turning on the shower as hot as she could stand. The shower muffled the sounds of the raging storm just a little, but still she stayed only long enough to warm up before climbing out and finally drying off.

The lights went out just as she was tugging a nightgown over her head. She froze, every muscle tensing as she hoped and prayed that the power would come back on. It did, but only as a flicker before sputtering and staying out. Belle stood there for what seemed an eternity, waiting for a cue to move that came in a flash of lightning, sending her stumbling back down the hall.

In the pitch black of the apartment, she fell to her hands and knees, trying desperately to remember where she'd left her bag. She was nearly in tears, sobs threatening to wrench themselves from her throat when her fingers finally grasped the worn leather and pulled free the prize they sought: her cell phone.

His was the first number that came to mind, and it was only after the first ring that she realized what she was doing. In the middle of a thunderstorm, nearly crying and shaking like a leaf, like a scared little girl she was calling Nicholas Gold to save her. She ended the call before it got to the second ring, clutching the phone to her chest and crawling over to her sofa. She was a scared little girl, wishing the mother she'd never known was there to hold her.

Just as the memories threatened to overtake her, eyes peering in through every window, bars that weren't there anymore rattling in the wind, her phone rang, his name lighting up the screen. _Ring._ No, she couldn't answer, she couldn't let him know she was still so very broken, even after all this time.

 _Ring._ But if she didn't answer, he would worry. He would go out into the awful storm and pound away on her door until he was sure she was okay. She couldn't let him do that. _Ring._

She answered the call, and before she could even open her mouth, he was asking in a strained, worried voice, "Are you alright?"

Something that had been so very tight in her chest loosened at those words, and she nodded, even though he couldn't see it. "Yes," she answered, for it was partially true. "I am now. I'm sorry, the power went out and I-"

He interrupted her without hesitation. "Do you need me to come?" He knew her better than anyone.

"No," she answered quickly, covering her eyes with a hand. "No, I just…" She pulled in a shaking breath. "Can you just… talk to me for a little while?" Her voice was so very quiet, so timid. She was terrified he would say no, that he would leave her to face the night and the memories alone. She should have known better.

"I'll stay on the line as long as you want, sweetheart," he assured her. "Even until dawn, if that's what it takes."

Tears slipped from the corners of her eyes. She tugged a blanket down from the back of the couch, curling up beneath and wished he was there even as she hated herself for it. "Thank you."

There was a quiet moment between them, each listening to the other breathe over the sounds of the storm raging outside their walls. When he spoke again, it was in easy conversation, as if the world wasn't crashing down around them.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I was in law school and the professor brought a chicken to the lecture?" It was so completely unexpected, a laugh burst out of her, broken but genuine. And that was how their night continued, with him regaling her with stories of his school days and her offering comments on the misadventures while storing away the insights each tale offered into his character. They talked until the early hours of the morning, when the winds died down and the thunder was long past, and even then they talked a little more until their phones chirped of dying batteries.

"Go to sleep, sweetheart," he urged her gently, without even a hint of his own exhaustion in his words. "You need your rest. The sun will be up before you know it."

She murmured her agreement, snuggling deeper into her blanket. "Goodnight, Nicholas."

"Goodnight, my Belle."

Her last thoughts before slipping into a blissfully nightmare-less sleep were of baking his favorite cookies tomorrow, though it was a poor way to show just how grateful she was for his beautiful act of kindness to a poor girl with no one else in the world.


	4. Chapter Three

  
_“Keep your face always toward the sunshine –  
and shadows will fall behind you.”_  
~ Walt Whitman

Belle slammed the phone down in frustration, glad no one was in the store to see her uncharacteristic outburst. It was near closing on a Saturday night, which was 6pm for her small bookstore that barely broke even, and she’d just had a very unpleasant ten minutes on the phone with Regina Mills regarding last night’s Storybook Corner. It was a blessing no one was around to watch her fume as she went about her nightly cleaning, dusting the shelves, washing up the mismatched porcelain teacups that were scattered around the store as decoration, and scrubbing down the front windows until they shone. But it wasn’t enough to cleanse away the frustration gnawing at her thoughts.

All in all, she made it a good twenty minutes before she was grabbing her cell phone and punching in a number with such ferocity that she was surprised the buttons didn’t crunch and break under her thumb. A firm voice laced with power and an abundance of disinterest answered.

She’d dialed the shop’s number instead of his personal one, so he wasn’t expecting the voice at the other end of the line to be hers. That actually gave her a bit of satisfaction in her darkened, angry state. “This book is stupid,” she growled into the phone, glaring at the large tome resting on her counter in front of her.

The ensuing laugh that rolled across the connection gave her enough pause for her to look at her caller ID. Yes, that really her Mr. Gold laughing – at her, no less. “It is!” she continued, trying not to lose any of the steam that had prompted her to call him. “It’s long and complicated and has given me one hell of a headache and I don’t even want to finish it anymore.”

Now that was a true testament to how out of sorts she was feeling. Belle had never left a book unfinished, not in her whole life, so to be throwing around those words… Gold’s laughter died and he was quiet for a moment. “You don’t really mean that,” he finally said, as gently as if he were trying to coax a frightened cat out from under a bed. “Now, my dear, tell me what the mean old book did to put you in such a mood.”

She huffed and flopped down in one of the armchairs scattered throughout the shop. “You’re right, I don’t mean it,” she muttered sullenly. “It wasn’t the book; it was Regina.”

Belle could almost hear Nick’s ears perk up at that. “And what has our illustrious mayor done to deserve your ire? Do I need to make good on that threat of a restraining order?” It was said almost in jest, but she knew her lawyer-turned-friend would be on it in a second if she were to give her permission. And as tempting as it was, she would never take him up on the offer; the town was too small and too many people would be hurt to even think of bringing such a thing into the fold.

“It was just a phone call, Nick,” she told him, an aching weariness taking root in her limbs as she settled into the chair. “She didn’t ‘approve’ of the selection Mary Margaret and I made for last night’s Storybook Corner.”

Storybook Corner was a special event for the children of Storybrooke, held every Friday night in the children’s section of Tale as Old as Time. While her bookstore wasn’t as large as some found in big cities, Belle prided herself on the selection of children’s literature; a person’s childhood informed every part of who they became as an adult, so she and one of the local schoolteachers had taken to reading some of the shorter stories and books to an audience who listened with bated breath and truly seemed to enjoy the evening for more than just the cookies and other treats provided by the shop. It warmed their hearts to see the town’s youth leave the store with smiles and, occasionally, a new book full of adventures waiting to be discovered.

“And her objections?” he inquired.

“Apparently she feels we ought to be reading biographies and historical texts instead of fairytales featuring evil witches and vengeful queens,” she grumbled, paraphrasing the other woman’s words but getting the sentiment right. “I agree that fairytales offer only a slanted view of good and evil, but that’s not the point of them. They’re meant to give children hope that, despite how terrible life can be, you can still have a happy ending.”

Gold chuckled from the other end of the line, sounding both very far off and like he could be sitting right next to her. “Yes, that does sound like the sort of thing the mayor would opp-“ His words were drowned out by the sudden, loud rumbling of Belle’s stomach. She pressed a hand to her middle, freezing and hoping he hadn’t heard. “What was that?”

Well, crap. “Nothing,” she said, perhaps a little too quickly.

“Belle, when was the last time you ate?”

It wasn’t a good sign that it actually took her a few long moments to recall the answer to his question. “About twelve hours ago, at breakfast…" 

She physically flinched as his strong voice commanded, “ _Out._ ”

Squirming in her seat, she smoothed a hand over her skirt and weakly protested, “But I haven’t finished closing…”

“Belle, if you are not at the diner in three minutes, there will be severe hell to pay.”

“Five minutes,” she countered.

“ _Four._ ” The click of the call ending echoed in her ears. Belle French slouched there in the armchair, staring blankly at one of the many filled-to-bursting bookshelves, until realizing she only had three minutes and fifty-two seconds to close the store and high-tail it to Granny’s.

Nicholas Gold is already at the diner when she arrives, a sandwich ready and waiting at the seat beside him at the counter. He does not take his eyes off her until she has eaten every last crumb, a care and concern in his gaze that she vowed never to forget so long as she lived.


	5. Chapter Four

  
_“It’s a very brave thing to fall in love. You have to be willing_  
to trust somebody else with your whole being, and that’s  
very difficult, really difficult and very brave.”  
~ Nicole Kidman

Belle French spent her Sunday mornings getting the crap kicked out of her by Sheriff Graham Humbert.

It started maybe a year after she was released from the psychiatric ward at the hospital. She’d been working toward earning her GED while learning how to successfully run a business from Nicholas Gold, when she decided to add a little self-defense to her person curriculum. The sheriff had been a little hesitant at first, but Dr. Hopper had given the all clear on her mental stability and Graham was not one to deny a woman the right to know how to properly defend herself. They used the gym at the high school because there really wasn’t anywhere else, and because there were more than enough mats available to allow Graham to throw her around every which way.

He taught her everything he knew – how to disarm a man with a knife, how to use an attacker’s weight and momentum against them, how to bring someone twice her size to his knees. He didn’t teach her how to start a fight, merely how to end it long enough for her to get to safety. He ran her through drills again and again, until she felt comfortable with the method, then they’d do it another ten times just to be sure. She’d walked away before with bruises, a dislocated shoulder, and even a limp, but she was always right back there waiting for him on Sunday. And she always sent him a box of baked goods to help ease his way through the Mondays he dreaded so. (He’d complained more than once about the inches she had added to his waistband over the years, but it was all said in jest; he was more than willing to accept the delicious morsels that were often still warm from the oven.)

The people who knew about their sessions were often perplexed by the practice. Storybrooke was a safe place, there was hardly any crime at all, and certainly none worthy of the pain she put herself through. So why did she do it? Belle made up excuses about it being a good form of exercise, that sort of utter nonsense, but Nick knew the real reason. The reason she learned to defend herself, the reason she pushed herself to run farther and faster every morning: she did it so no one would ever have the chance to lock her away again.

Their mornings together always ended the same way, with Graham getting the upper hand and Belle feeling like she’d just been tossed under a car. Today, this consisted of him wrenching her arm at an angle that nearly had it popping out of its socket while kicking her legs out from under her. She hit the floor hard enough to knock the air from her lungs, and she just lay there on the mat blinking dazedly at the ceiling until Graham’s concerned face filled her vision.

“You alright?” he asked, crouching down at her side. She gave him a thumbs up and somehow managed to croak out a wheezy, “Fine,” in between struggling to get her breath back.

With one hand under her elbow and the other gripping hers, he helped haul her to her feet. “I think it’s time to call it a day,” he advised, making sure she was steady before letting go. “I really don’t need to worry about Gold attacking me in my sleep again because I beat up his girl.”

Again? She’d have to remember to ask one (or both) of them about that later. For now, she was more than content to head home for a long, hot shower.

\---

With still-damp hair pulled back into a low ponytail, Belle walked into Storybrooke’s small but adequate grocery store, two bunched up canvas tote bags going into the basket she picked up. Checking her shopping list, she made her way through the produce section, grabbing a few tomatoes and a bulb of garlic before hitting the rest of the store. A box of angel hair pasta, a bottle of moscato wine, and a tray of chicken from the meat section.

She was just turning down the aisle that held tea and coffee when her sore shoulder collided with someone else, causing her to drop her basket with a gasp and a rather loud clatter. “I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention…,” she began, kneeling to retrieve her basket that was laying on its side, but the words caught in her throat at the sight of the person who knelt beside her.

Her father.

Moe French stared at his daughter with heartbroken eyes that she tried desperately to ignore while picking up her few groceries. She stood up so fast she teetered a little on her high heels, and when he reached out a hand to steady her, she stepped quickly out of his reach.

“Lacey, I-“ he started, his voice hesitant and thick with emotion. But she was having none of it. Not today. Not ever again.

“ _No_.” There was a firmness to her voice and a finality in her tone that had him nodding and continuing on his way with his own basket full of microwave dinners and a six-pack of beer. Her father had never been much of a drinker before, and she didn’t want to think about what had caused him to become so now. She couldn’t think about it. She was Belle now, Lacey had been left behind in that psychiatric ward all those years ago, and she could never forgive her father for what he had done.

Her eyes shifted to the rows of bagged coffee offerings, barely taking the time to register the names or prices before just grabbing the first one that read Whole Bean. With everything on her list checked off, she hurried out of the store, not caring that the checkout girl was likely to add her unusually hasty departure to the weekly gossip surrounding Crazy Lacey. 

\---

Nicholas Gold arrived precisely at seven o’clock, just as he did every Sunday night they had dinner at her apartment. (She, however, was usually a few minutes late or occasionally early the Sundays they ate at his place, about which he never failed to tease her.) She took his suit jacket and hung it on a hanger behind the door, leaving him a bit more relaxed in just a shirt and tie – it was the best she’d ever gotten out of him, even after all their years of friendship. The man just loved his suits, though she suspected it was more out of a need for armor than a sense of fashion. Not that he didn’t look downright gorgeous in them…

They sat at her worn kitchen table and enjoyed the meal of capellini pomodoro and chicken baked in Italian seasonings. Sipping at their glasses of wine, the conversation was easy, ranging from a in-depth critique of Sidney Glass’s latest outrageously incorrect expose in the town newspaper to her progress on that behemoth of a novel she’d started a few days earlier – she had already finished up and gladly offered to let him borrow it, to which he politely declined.

When the meal was finished, Belle lifted the plates from the table to carry to the sink, trying not to smirk at the way he visibly resisted rising to help with the cleanup. They had made an agreement many dinners ago that when they were guests in each other’s homes, they would act as such; it was the only way to keep him from starting right on the dishes, or her from tackling spills on the stove. It was just easier this way, with far fewer arguments and much less irritation for the both of them.

“Would you like some coffee?” she asked over her shoulder as she set the dishes to soaking. She drank tea during the day, but preferred coffee at night, the strong flavor and jolt of caffeine helping her make it through the hours of shadows much better than her favorite raspberry or cinnamon teas. The offer was always extended to him after dinners in her apartment, but he had yet to ever accept the offer, which was why his response made her turn and stare at him, unsure if she’d heard him correctly. “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Her voice was soft, hesitant… maybe even a little afraid.

“I said, that would be lovely, my dear.” A small smile was on his lips, a gentle tone to his voice. Suddenly, it felt like she was standing at the edge of a diving board, watching him stand down at the edge of a shimmering blue pool, waiting for her to make the next move. He was giving her a chance, an open door and a way in; she could choose to take it and make the leap, or turn and climb back down the ladder if she found the height too frightening. But she dug up her courage, took a deep breath, and nodded.

With her back to him as she filled the grinder with the fragrant beans, she said in a voice that, thankfully, did not shake, “Why don’t you go on into the living room? I’ll be right there.” The scrape of the chair and quiet tap of his cane let her know he had done as she asked, giving her a moment to collect herself while mechanically going through the motions of making the coffee. 

By the time she entered the living room with two steaming mugs, she was composed and ready to face the new situation, though she didn’t quite expect to see him frowning down at her coffee table, a piece of her murder mystery puzzle gripped between his slender fingers. 

“Why doesn’t it match the photo on the box?” he inquired, scouring the incomplete image in front of him for a possible match to the piece he was holding.

She opened the box and retrieved the booklet from inside to show him the text within. “It’s a mystery you have to solve,” she explained. “You read the story, then the puzzle reveals the clues you need to solve it. I borrowed this one from Mary Margaret, after making her swear not to give away the ending.”

Still frowning, Gold took the little booklet from her and read through the story while his companion sipped her coffee. When he was finished, he returned it to the box and set his captured puzzle piece back on the table with its comrades. “I don’t think I’m getting anywhere with that,” he stated, his fingers flitting over the small bits of cardboard before plucking one out of the mess. 

And that was how they spent the next twenty minutes, sitting next to each on her old couch, drinking coffee and working on the puzzle. Each new successfully placed piece had them grinning in triumph and pondering how the image being slowly revealed could possibly relate to the mystery’s elusive solution. Finally setting her empty mug aside, she glanced over the unclaimed pieces scattered around the connected portions, reaching excitedly when she spotted the one she’d been searching for. Her exclamation of success was turned into a cry of pain as she jolted her sore shoulder.

The sharp look Gold gave her was enough to have her leaning back and pouting like a scolded child. “This morning with Graham,” she explained, answering the unasked question of how she’d been injured. He stared at her a little longer, taking in her pinched expression and the way she rubbed at her shoulder, before nodding. He moved his finger in a circular motion, indicating she should turn and put her back to him; she did so without hesitation, not wasting a second wondering what he was up to because she trusted him in everything, completely and with her entire being. She felt his hands settle on her shoulder and his fingers started to just kneed at the abused muscle beneath, a low moan of satisfaction slipped from her lips. He worked with a practiced ease, not the first time he had ever done this for her, knowing just how much pressure to apply to reduce her to a puddle of melted butter.

By the time his hands stilled, she was in another world entirely, skin tingling and vision hazy with simple pleasure. She was so lost in the ocean of feeling that she almost didn’t notice the wisp of breath that heralded the arrival of his lips on the curve between neck and shoulder.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t even breathe as he set not one, but two, then three kisses on her skin, each slow and precise and absolutely maddening. She wanted to see his face, wanted to know what he was thinking and feeling, if this was really what she thought, but she couldn’t bring herself to look; bravery had escaped her grasp at the promise of something she had wanted for so long but been too terrified to try for.

He smoothed the pad of his thumb across the place his lips had touched, as if brushing away some perceived mark or imperfection, and then he pulled back from her, a chill wrapping around her at the loss of his closeness. She let out of shaky sigh before ever so slowly turning to face him, her entire being trembling at the emotions in his expression: affection, desire, even a hint of fear.

“Nick…,” she whispered, a hundred words at the tip of her tongue but none wanting to venture farther. He saved her with a gentle hand pressed to her cheek, his thumb caressing her lips lovingly.

“You don’t have to decide now, dearest,” he assured her, showing a compassion she would expect from no one else. “I would wait a thousand years for you, and I will be here even if your answer is no.”

She watched him retrieve his jacket, slipping his arms through the sleeves and giving her one last look before leaving the apartment, her heart wanting to go with him.

\---

Hours later, in the dead of night, she sent a simple, one-worded text.

_Yes._

Curled beneath her warm comforter, a soft breeze drifting through the room, she waited for his response, knowing it might not come until morning. Luckily, she didn’t have to wait more than thirty seconds, her phone vibrating in her hand to alert of the received message.

_Yes?_

Grinning, she typed in her answer, then set her phone on the table beside her bed. There were no nightmares that night, only peaceful dreams promising countless tomorrows of happiness. 

_Yes._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m in need of more quotes for the chapter openings. Quotes, song lyrics, poems – anything will do, so long as it includes some variation of the word “fall” (falling, fallen, fell, etc). Give me your best and your worst, dearies! We have a long journey ahead of us.


	6. Chapter Five

_"One does not fall in love; one grows into love, and love grows in him."_  
~ Karl A. Menninger

The _Tale as Old as Time_ bookstore opened at noon on Tuesdays, as everyone in Storybrooke knew. It was the only day the quaint little shop opened late, for the proprietor was always trying to catch the early morning crowd wanting a spare pastry for breakfast instead of the more filling fare offered at Granny's Diner. So everyone in town noticed when, on a bright spring Thursday morning, the bookstore's windows were dark and void of movement. Marco Esposito, Storybrooke's beloved handyman who could fix just about anything, was down the street that morning trying to fix another store's sign that just refused to stop falling down when he noticed the lack of life within the bookstore.

That was strange. The young lady was always there at this time of day, the bell above the door ringing as people came and went, the scent of fresh baked cookies and pastries drifting out of the cozy shop to entire others to enter. But today there were no star-shaped twinkle lights sparkling in the display windows, no trill of laughter at the latest town news, and the air smelled only of pine trees and seawater.

Marco kept an eye on the little store while he worked, hoping that at any moment there would be a signal from within that everything was alright and he could stop being a worried old man. But as he finished his current task and climbed down from the tall ladder, there was nothing to assure him of that, and so he had to resign himself to Plan B: he had to find Mr. Gold.

While the rest of the town might be firmly against the pawnbroker, Marco had never really had much cause to dislike Gold. Of course they had their differences, everyone did, but Gold had given Marco a steady stream of jobs over the years, and always paid him a fair wage for the work – on that, they had never disagreed. Gold was a businessman, first and foremost, but he was not a cheat. And, above all else, he cared about Belle French. The two were as thick as thieves, and no one in the town could deny it. That was why Marco sought out Gold with his worries, finding the other man just as he was locking up the pawnshop.

"Mr. Gold!" Marco called as he climbed out of his vehicle. "A moment, please, sir!"

Nicholas Gold wrapped his hands around the handle of his cane, glancing at his watch impatiently. First the inane phone call from the mayor, and now this? "Mr. Esposito, this had best be a quick visit," he warned with just a touch of menace. "I have a standing appointment on Thursdays to which I refuse to be late."

Of course. It was Thursday. Gold would have found out anyway, then, but since he was already here… "Yes, it concerns that," Marco informed him. "Ms. French isn't in the bookstore today."

That certainly got his attention. "What do you mean she's not there? Where is she?"

"I do not know. It's so unusual for her, I grew worried something might be wrong."

"Let us hope not," Gold replied, his tone distracted as he fished his car keys out of his jacket pocket. "I'll keep you informed." He started for his car, parked alongside the shop, and then paused. "Thank you," he added, hesitantly, over his shoulder. "For telling me."

Marco simply nodded and watched the other man drive away.

\---

Nicholas Gold drove past the _Tale as Old as Time_ bookstore on his way to Belle's apartment, just in case she had magically appeared and there was no need for the panic churning painfully in his chest. No luck on that front. Next he tried her cell phone, but that also yielded no results. It was all so incredibly unlike Belle that he was quickly moving toward being completely terrified that something had happened to her. It was _Thursday_ , it was _their day_ , and with the ways things had been going, he couldn't possibly fathom that she would disappear on him. Again.

He forced his hands to be steady as he parked the car outside her apartment building, his steps slow and even as he made his way inside. He owned the building itself, and all the residents within knew him, so it would not do to make an utter fool of himself for something that was probably nothing at all. (Though if his stupid bum ankle did not start cooperating a bit more, there was no telling what he might do.) By the time he reached her apartment on the third floor, he was cursing every single step and the lack of elevator in the building that had kept him from reaching the door sooner.

When his knocks went unanswered, he pulled out his keys again, finding the spare she had given him years ago, that offered such an intimate level of trust now that they were in a relationship; he would have to have copies made of the keys to his own home, perhaps present them at their usual Sunday night dinner in a box with a ribbon…

"Belle?" he called as he entered, shutting the door behind him. "Sweetheart, are you here?" The tapping of his cane cut through the silence as he moved through the apartment, checking the kitchen, the living room, and finally her bedroom. The sight of her there on the bed, simply sleeping, was such a relief to him that words could not even begin to describe. She was safe, she was _alive_ … she had not been taken from him.

Letting out the breath that he was sure he had been holding for the past twenty minutes, Gold took in the sight of the room, making sure nothing was amiss. There were still piles of books precariously stacked on the floor where they had overflowed the small bookshelf in the corner. The walls were still covered with vintage photographs and faded maps of far off places, destinations he knew his Belle desperately wanted to visit. There were still blue and white strands of lights curled around the antique headboard of the bed, with more dancing along the tops of each wall to provide the room a soft illumination in the dark of night; she hated being alone in the dark. All in all, everything was as it should be, which meant the answers lay with the angelic beauty curled beneath the deep blue comforter.

It was only as he eased himself down onto the edge of the bed that she stirred, frowning and shifting in her sleep. He set a hand on her lower leg, meaning for it to comfort her, but in the next instant she was awake and scrambling backward on the bed, her eyes wide and frantic. This wasn't the first time he had dealt with her nightmares; in the months after her release from the hospital, when she had lived with him while getting back on her feet, there had been many occurrences of screams and tears in the night. That had been years ago, though, and it made his heart ache that the nightmares were still this bad for her.

"It's alright, sweetheart," he said in a soft, soothing voice, lifting his hands away from her to show that she was the one in control. "It's alright. You're not in that place anymore. _You're safe now_." He stayed where he was; standing would signal a loss of control for her, might only make things worse if the twisted memories still had her in their grasp.

Her beautiful blue eyes cleared as her shaking hands reached out to grasp his; she bent forward and pressed her forehead to their joined hands, her hair a dark, tangled curtain shielding her from the world. He gave her fingers a gentle squeeze, waiting for her to collect herself.

"I overslept, didn't I?" she whispered, slowly righting herself to look at him, lines of exhaustion etched into her face. She was so bright, his Belle, understanding the situation in seconds where others would have needed it spelled out in simple words. She understood and accepted the ways things were, choosing her battles wisely and letting go the things that could not be changed. "I missed our lunch, and the shop…"

He tucked her beautifully messy brown curls behind her ear, the backs of his fingers ghosting along the curve of her jaw. "It will all be fine, dearest," he assured her. "You're exhausted; you need to take care of yourself. The world will still be waiting for you tomorrow." His gaze caught on the little orange bottle resting on her nightstand, the white label proclaiming _French, Lacey I_. above a complicated word he couldn't begin to pronounce and a recommended dosage. "Those are to help you sleep, yes? Have you taken any?"

He knew her so very well. Belle shook her head, looking down at the chipped maroon polish on her nails. "They help, but… they make the nightmares worse."

"What if I stayed?" he offered, his hands covering hers. "I'm willing to change our lunch to a dinner, if you are."

The smile she gave him was one of the most glorious things Nick Gold had ever witnessed.

After Belle had taken the medication and settled back into her pillows, he stretched out beside her, a book in hand and his suit jacket discarded at the end of the bed. He felt her eyes on him for a long while, watching as he read, waiting for the pills to work their magic and force her body to take the rest it desperately needed. It was unexpected when her small voice broke through the quiet, and her words very nearly broke his heart.

"Please don't leave…"

Whether she was talking about right now or something more like forever, his answer was the same. "I'm right here, love," he assured her softly, his fingers turning the book's page with a crisp, quiet _swish_. "I'm not going anywhere."

That night, they shared a dinner of Chinese noodles, and a first kiss over the fortune cookies.


	7. Interlude I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The first of many glimpses into the pasts of our favorite couple.

  
_"You drown not by falling into a river,  
but by staying submerged in it."_

~ Paulo Coelho

Nicholas Gold was jolted from the world of sweet, peaceful slumber by agonized screams that pierced the calm of the Victorian manor. It was the fifth night in a row that he had been woken thus, the fifth night since his guest had been released from the hospital and into his care; he was almost used to it by now, the feeling of tumbling into wakefulness like the sudden drop from a great height, but the knowledge of who was on the other end of those cries was its own form of torture.

He slipped out of bed, grabbing his cane as he tied a black robe over deep red silk pajamas. The hardwood floor was cold against his bare feet as he approached her open door just down the hall from his own often-closed one; the screams were more pronounced now, but they seemed to be tapering off a bit. Good. He didn't mind the nightmares, as much as they hurt to witness, but he'd been working with Dr. Hopper on ways to help her through the nightly trauma and letting her wake naturally was the latest plan of action.

Gold took a seat in chair pulled up not quite beside her bed, but not too far from it either, waiting for those bright blues eyes to look upon the waking world again. Light streamed into the room from the hallway where he'd left a lamp on every night since he discovered her fear of the dark; unlike the irrational fear of children, he imagined her anxiety was born from facing very real terrors at the hands of her captors. (He refused to acknowledge the so-called medical professionals who had kept her locked away as anything but that – no one with a shred of humanity could have allowed such an innocent creature to suffer as she had.)

When she had fought off the last tendrils of sleep and was looking at him, cautiously watching him as she had every night during her stay, he offered her a small smile, his expression softened by a tenderness he had not felt toward anyone in many years. "When you're ready, come downstairs," he directed gently, standing with only a bit of trouble from his old injury. "I'll make us some tea."

It was only around ten minutes later that she wandered into the kitchen, looking as if she'd combed her hair, wearing slippers and a loose sweater over her pajamas. He could see in her every action that she was conscious of the image she was presenting to others; in conversations, she would speak slowly and with great thought, choosing her words carefully to give just the right meaning; her gestures were an endearing combination of nervously clumsy and smoothly controlled. It amazed him that she had made such progress so soon after being released from the hospital, and he was sure that in the same situation, half the people in town would still be huddled in a corner crying. But this girl, this woman who sat across the table from him, had to be the strongest person he had ever met, to go through that daily hell and still come out a person on the other end.

When the silence had stretched between them for a good four minutes, Gold cleared his throat and quietly asked, "Would you like to talk about it, Ms. French?"

Setting down the cup of tea she had been nursing, she took a deep breath before meeting his concerned gaze. "Must you call me that still? You're not my employer anymore, Mr. Gold."

Her words took him by complete surprise. He had been expecting his question to be brushed off, or perhaps to hear an agonized account of the dream she had experienced that night, but in no pondering had this scenario come to mind. "Would you prefer it if I called you Lacey?" he inquired, his slender hands cradling his own cup of still-warm tea.

Again she surprised him by shaking her head. "No, that's even worse," she explained, her eyes leaving him to stare at the wood grain of the table. "Lacey is a victim and a coward and… I don't want to be her anymore." She opened her mouth to say something more, then closed it again and sat back in her chair, thinking. Watching him and thinking things he couldn't begin to guess. Finally, she requested something so important of him that there were no words that could adequately express the honor he felt at being chosen for such. "Would you choose a new name for me, Mr. Gold?"

\---

"I, uh, I brought you some cookies. I made them this morning."

Dr. Archie Hopper gave his patient a sincere smile. "Thank you, Lacey," he told her as he took the plastic-covered plate and set it carefully on his desk before sitting in his usual chair. "You didn't have to, but I could never say no to chocolate chips. They're my favorite."

"Mine's peanut butter," she admitted with a grin, smoothing her hands along the skirt of her dress, making sure it fell in crisp, straight lines instead of a rumpled mess. He'd noticed she seemed to take quite a bit of care in her personal appearance, and made a note to bring it up in a later discussion. "But Mr. Gold didn't have any in his kitchen. I've added it to the grocery list, though."

Archie looked up from where he'd been jotting the thought in his notebook. "That's right," he said, laying down his pen, "you're going to brave Storybrooke's fine grocery establishment today." He paused, and then grinned. "Don't expect too much," he cautioned. "They repainted last year and finally put the coffee next to the tea, but those are just about the only things that have changed there."

"Not much has changed anywhere, has it?" She sounded almost sad about the fact.

"Does that bother you?"

She chewed on her lower lip as she thought, her fingertips worrying the end of the sash tied around her dress. "Yes," she concluded after much thought. "I think all of this would have been easier if things had changed. Maybe the world just forgot me because of all the change. Instead everything stayed the same and I…" She bowed her head, squeezing her eyes shut as her voice crackled like paper-thin plastic. "I don't understand why this happened to me. I don't understand why everyone abandoned me…"

Archie leaned forward in his chair, reaching across the short distance to set his hand on hers, giving her a solid, physical connection to help pull her from those dark thoughts. "Not everyone," he insisted, meeting the gaze of those blue eyes that seemed so lost and without hope. "As soon as we learned what had happened, Mr. Gold and I did everything in our power to get you out of that place. And look at you now." She turned her hands over, holding his in both of hers. "You aren't alone anymore, Lacey."

"…Belle."

The ginger-haired man's brows furrowed as she let go of his hand and held herself a little straighter, a calm seeming to settle over her features. "Belle?"

The young woman smiled with a confidence he hadn't seen in her before. "Yes," she said simply. "I'd like to be Belle from now on, please. If I'm going to start a new life and really move on from this, I think I have to leave Lacey behind."

"Belle is a beautiful name," he assured her, voicing his approval for her decision. Just about anything that helped this poor woman recover from her ordeal was sure to earn his support. And really, her middle name was Isabelle, so it wasn't a complete departure from her former identity, just a distancing to allow herself to heal.

"Thank you," she replied with a smile, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. "Mr. Gold chose it for me."


	8. Chapter Six

  
_"I did not just fall in love. I made a parachute jump."_

~ Zora Neale Hurston

Sunlight warmed the blankets that draped over her legs, the smooth cotton still a little crisp from being freshly washed. Sighing softly, she turned on her side, dark hair falling across her face as a small hand reached out toward the other side of the bed, finding only an empty expanse of cool, crisp sheet. Belle blinked her blue eyes open, confirming that she was alone in the bed. A bird was singing outside the open window, a much different song than she was used to in her own home, but it was still beautiful and one she could certainly get used to.

She could tell by the brightness of the room that she had woken much later than usual, and it was likely close to time for her to be heading to the store, but she just couldn't bring herself to leave the heavenly cocoon of blankets. Inching closer to the middle of the bed so she could breathe in the spicy scent that still clung to his pillow, she nearly purred at the memory of the night before. Nicholas had planned everything perfectly, keeping things easy and comfortable like their normal Sunday night dinners, but adding in small romantic touches that had made all the difference. Dinner had been tomato soup with garlic and basil, and grilled cheese sandwiches with three delicious kinds of cheese that melted into pure bliss. Flowers cut from the garden, some of the first of the season, were in vases scattered around the main rooms of the house. A fire crackled in the fireplace to chase away the evening's chill. A sweet white wine paired well with the chocolate covered strawberries she had brought for dessert while they watched a movie, Chocolat appropriately… but they hadn't made it through even the first twenty minutes of the film before they were stumbling upstairs, articles of clothing dropping behind like a trail of breadcrumbs.

Belle had never felt so loved and completely cherished as she had in his arms. There had been no embarrassed fumbling, no uncertainty in their actions and certainly no regret – after over five years of dancing around this relationship, they were both all in and entirely devoted to the other.

The familiar tap-tap-tap of a cane on the hardwood floor brought a smile to her lips. She snuggled closer to his pillow, wrapping her arms around it and pulling it to her chest as he stepped into the room. Her eyes watched as he came around to the side of the bed, already dressed for the day minus the suit jacket, and sat on the edge of the mattress.

"I feel decidedly underdressed," she announced quietly, still basking in the last hazy moments before she was fully awake, and rubbed her cheek against soft green pillowcase.

He gave a low chuckle and traced a fingertip over the curve of her bare shoulder. If he remembered correctly, everything about her was bare under those layers of blankets. "And I feel rather jealous of that pillow there," he returned, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips.

"Oh, really?" she teased playfully, her fingers wrapping around the end of his tie and giving it a little tug. "Just what are you going to do about that?" she questioned, arching her back and stretching against the pillow still pressed to her chest. What he did was proceed to kiss her senseless until all she could do was grasp at his shirt and wait for the room to stop spinning. Belle's voice was breathy and hushed as she said, "Your shirt's going to get all rumpled if you keep this up."

Another chuckle warmed her from the inside out. "Well, we can't have that, now can we?" he teased right back, smoothing her hair back from her face. Leaning down, he pressed a kiss to her forehead, and then stood. "Your breakfast is cooling in the kitchen, dearest. You'll be down shortly?"

She nodded, waiting until he'd left the room before climbing out of bed. Nick had brought her bag up last night while making a midnight run to the kitchen for the rest of the strawberries (and a little extra chocolate) – it had been very thoughtful of him, since this way she didn't have to wander throughout the house without pants looking for her missing clothing. She pulled out fresh underwear and a folded blue dress that needed a good shake before she shimmied into it, managing to zip herself up with just a little contortion. Raking a comb through her hair only made it fluff up, but pulling it back into a messy bun solved the problem, and after washing her face and brushing her teeth, she felt like a real person again, despite a severe lack of sleep due to their… delicious nighttime escapades.

It took an incredible amount of restraint to not rip off that gorgeous striped silk tie and smother him in maple syrup instead of her pancakes. She succeeded in her mission somehow, though, and when she offhandedly mentioned the struggle on her way out the door, she was gifted with a smirk and a promise of a reward that night for her admirable display of self-control.

It was the longest Monday of her life.

\---

Belle stepped into the warmth of Storybrooke's only Chinese restaurant, Eastern Garden, and breathed in the array of mouthwatering smells that drifted out from beyond the swinging kitchen doors. The place had the typical look of a Chinese restaurant in North America, with paintings of dragons and beautiful gardens gracing the walls between carved scrollwork in reds and golds, offsetting the shiny so-brown-they-were-almost-black tables and chairs. Elaborate knots of thick red cord were hung around the seating areas, with large and small versions alike for sale beside the cash register along with a selection of calligraphy written on delicate rice paper; Belle had such a piece in a frame hanging on the wall in her apartment's living room. But she wasn't there to appreciate the beautiful atmosphere of the restaurant, or even to enjoy the delicious cuisine offered – she was there to see the little old woman who waited in the corner booth next to the front window, her booth that all regular patrons knew not to sit in without express permission, for it was her throne over the family's meager restaurant empire that had dwindled down to one single establishment.

Grandmother Hua was a short, slightly rounded woman with a wrinkled, open face and pure white hair that was always pulled back into a smooth bun. She ruled her restaurant kingdom with an iron fist and a big smile, refusing to let anyone walk all over her or her family's business, but welcoming everyone with open arms, Belle especially after all the years she had known the Hua family.

Mrs. Hua, Grandmother Hua's daughter-in-law, smiled from behind the front counter, where she was taking an order over the phone, and nodded her over to Grandmother's table. Belle returned the smile as she crossed the room and slid into the booth, waiting for Grandmother to look up from her crossword puzzle before speaking.

"Hǎo jiǔ bu jiàn, xiǎo niǎo," the old woman said as she filled in a few letters and then finally set down her pencil to gaze up at Belle expectantly. Long time no see, Little Bird.

Belle cringed slightly. "Duìbuqǐ, nǎinai," she apologized, setting on the table the brown paper gift bag she had been carrying. I'm sorry, Grandmother. "Things have been rather busy lately, or I would have visited more. But I finally got in those books Hua Lǎoshī requested." She lifted three books from the bag, one an analysis on the current trends of Chinese language pedagogy in the United States, another a collection of traditional Chinese legends and folk tales, and finally a text on the presence of McDonald's restaurants in East Asia.

Grandmother Hua shook her head at the selection and giggled in amusement. "My son always has had varied interests," she acknowledged, stacking the books up and setting them off to the side. "And let me guess, you have a copy of each waiting for you at home?"

The younger woman grinned brightly and nodded. "You know I can't resist a good book, regardless of the subject matter." Her beloved bookstore was a testament to her utter adoration of the written word.

"Oh, I do know that very well," Grandmother Hua acknowledged, taking a sip of tea from a cup sat beside her, then signaling for her daughter-in-law to bring more to the table. "You were always his best student, you know. So eager to learn everything anyone had to teach." Her voice softened, her tone growing nostalgic and sad. "You should have been able to go to that fancy university, to see the world like you wanted. I'm so sorry things ended up the way they did, xiǎo niǎo. If only we had known…"

Belle shook her head, reaching out to grasp the old woman's hands in her own and giving them a firm squeeze. "That's all in the past, nǎinai. I have a good life now, and I wouldn't trade it for anything."

There was something in the way she said it that had Grandmother Hua narrowing her eyes ever so slightly, studying Belle with sharp eyes that she was sure could see straight through to her soul and the secrets hidden there. Just as the other woman was opening her mouth to say something, Mrs. Hua appeared with a fresh pot of tea and matching cup that was offered to her guest. "Have some tea, dear, and you must stay for dinner," the motherly woman insisted gently as she poured.

"Thank you for the offer," Belle said, lifting her cup to blow gently at the steaming tea, "but I'm afraid I can't. I'm having someone over for dinner tonight, and I have to get home soon to start cooking."

The look in Grandmother Hua's eyes said that was just what she had been waiting to hear. "Nǐ qǐng shéi chīfàn?" Who did you invite for dinner? Even Mrs. Hua seemed eager to find out.

Belle glanced between the two women, weighing her options before finally just admitting, "Wǒ qǐng Nicholas Gold chīfàn." I invited Nicholas Gold for dinner.

Mrs. Hua seemed slightly taken aback by the information, asking, "Tā shì nǐ.de nán péngyou .ma?" Is he your boyfriend?

Belle immediately blushed twelve shades of red and nodded, causing the old woman to hoot with laughter. "Good for you! He is something of a stud muffin, isn't he? Even if he is an old grouch."

"Mother!"

"Nǎinai!"

"What? It's true!"

What followed after was an enjoyable (if slightly embarrassing) hour of the women pulling various details of the relationship from Belle while sharing their own words of wisdom on how to keep a man happy. It was when the conversation turned toward the more racy side of things that she excused herself, promising to return later in the week for that family dinner.


	9. Chapter Seven

  
_“You very seldom see a picture where you_  
watch the process of falling in love.”  
~ Alfre Woodard

The sound of a porcelain cup being set on the bedside table was what woke Nicholas Gold, and it was much better than any shrill alarm clock could ever hope to be. The aroma of the deliciously dark brew inside drifted on a breeze from the window and he was fairly certain that if there was such a thing as heaven, this was his. He opened his eyes to catch a glimpse of brown curls and a yellow skirt disappearing behind the doorframe. That was his girl, already up and ready to face the world beyond their little haven. He could tell by the lingering hint of perfume that she had already gone for her morning run, and he looked forward to reading the sure to be amusing Sunday edition of the paper that she would have retrieved for them. It was their usual routine, after all.

He and Belle had been seeing each other for nearly four months now, though it seemed much longer than that. They had both become so immersed in their life together that he could not imagine his precious bookworm not being a part of his every waking thought. Of course, they did not cling to one another the way young couples tended to – they were both adults, made wiser by circumstances beyond their control, and thus they knew that each was too independent to be tied down. They were birds that took flight at the start of each day, living lives apart but intricately entwined with the other’s; even with days apart, there was no jealousy or worry, and they always returned to their home nest in the end with stories to share. 

Gold didn’t like to think how things would have turned out if they had not spent years cultivating their friendship before taking the leap into something more. Oh, he had wanted to be with her for years, craved her touch like a man craved water to quench his thirst, yearned to fall asleep holding her safe and sound in his arms, but it had not been worth the risk of losing her if his affections had not been returned. It had only been when he was sure… And nothing in this world had made him happier than receiving that text message in the early hours of the morning, that three-lettered word that had brought this piece of heaven into being.

Climbing out from between the sheets, he slid into the robe he kept at Belle’s apartment and grabbed his coffee to head out to the living room. A plate of scones was on the coffee table next to Belle’s own cup of coffee, now being thoroughly ignored in favor of a section of the newspaper. She held up the other section without looking up from the story she was devouring and he took it while seating himself on the couch beside her. 

Forty minutes passed as they combed through each story, commenting when one got to something the other had already read, especially when it concerned a piece by Sidney Glass. The small mountain of scones was reduced to a spattering of crumbs and the coffee carafe was emptied of its contents during their peaceful morning together.

\---

Belle had finished with her session with Graham and then headed to the bookstore to work on a rush catering order she’d received the day before. She didn’t do much with that portion of her business, other than what was actually sold in the shop, but occasionally she received specific orders for her specialty cupcakes or cookies, usually for a birthday or holiday. It wasn’t exactly how she’d planned to spend her Sunday, the only full day off she had each week, but business was business, and she didn’t ever not need the money. So here she was, covered in powdered sugar from whipping up the espresso butter cream frosting to pair with the cinnamon cappuccino cupcakes for Sandra Edward’s daughter’s sweet sixteen party, and then her cell phone rang. 

“This had better be good,” she muttered, wiping her hands ineffectually on her powdery apron before picking up her phone and glancing at the screen. “Shit.” 

It was Nick. Nick calling from the pawnshop. 

She was in such trouble.

\---

Nicholas Gold unlocked the front door of his pawnshop and stepped inside, the jingling of the bell on the frame going completely unnoticed as he flipped on the lights and stopped, narrowing his eyes at the many objects scattered throughout the room. Scattered… in an orderly fashion, it seemed. Much more orderly than even he usually left them. And the glass cases seemed to almost gleam in the artificial lighting, though he hadn’t wiped down anything but the main counter in a few days.

Either invisible cleaning elves had invaded his shop during the night, or his lady love had struck again. He was going with the latter as the most likely suspect.

Picking up the store phone, he dialed the number from memory and waited for her to answer with her usual, “Hi, Nick,” before addressing the matter at hand.

“Belle, why does it smell like lemons in here?”

“I think the better question is what you’re doing at the pawnshop on a Sunday,” she replied smoothly, clearly trying to sidestep the issue. “You’re closed on Sundays, you’re always closed on Sundays.”

He pressed at the bridge of his nose, pinching firmly to relieve the pressure building in his head. “Belle, did you, by any chance… Break into my shop and clean all the things?” 

He could practically hear her eyes rolling in response to the question. Her tone was incredulous as she said, “You’re never going to get past that internet meme, are you?”

“That’s not the point. Answer the question, dearest.”

There was a long pause before Belle admitted, “…I didn’t break in. I used the spare key you gave me.”

Gold nearly dropped the phone as she practically admitted her transgression. “The spare key I gave you for _emergencies_?” he further questioned, reaching out to push a weathered book off the top of an unnaturally neat stack of equally aged books.

“It was an emergency! Your display cases were terrible, you never dust in there!”

He took a deep breath, trying to reign in his temper. He wasn’t entirely certain why he was angry, but something about the whole situation shook his nerves, and his first reaction to it was lividity. “And when exactly did this take place?”

“Around five this morning.” And she said it so simply, too!

It was the final straw. Incensed beyond reason, he shouted into the receiver, “What the hell were you thinking breaking into my shop to clean at _five in the morning_?!”

Nick was startled when she yelled right back across the line. “I was _awake_ and needed something to do!” she countered, as if it should be plainly obvious. “There are only so many sunrises a girl can watch before they’re just plain _boring_.”

He hadn’t been expecting her to match his volume, or fight back at all, and he wasn’t sure why he hadn’t thought she would. This was his Belle, of course she would give as good as she got – she always called him out when he rightly deserved it. It was like she had taken a pin to a balloon, he felt so deflated after the rush of his anger coming and going so quickly.

“Thank you,” he practically sighed, the words themselves relaying his reluctance to voice the sentiment.

It sounded as if she started to launch into another protest before the words registered. “Sorry?” Her accent was so deliciously adorable she was confused.

“ _Thank you_ ,” he repeated, slumping down onto a stool kept behind the main counter. “Despite my reaction just now… I truly appreciate your efforts, sweetheart. I apologize for my outburst.” He was quiet for a moment before hesitantly asking, “Will I see you for dinner tonight?”

A soft laugh drifted over the line. “It’s Sunday night, Nicholas,” she reasoned gently. “Where else would I be but with you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It’s not quite what I’d hoped, but I thought it best to get it out to you all instead of mulling over it for a few weeks. We’ll be hopping through a lot of time with the next few chapters, and then things will really begin to get interesting! Bear with me for a little longer, I promise it will be worth the wait.
> 
> And, of course, comments are always appreciated!


	10. Interlude II

  
_“When I’m trusting and being myself as fully as possible,_  
everything in my life reflects this by falling into  
place easily, often miraculously.”  
~ Shakti Gawain

It had been almost a year since those first timid nights in his home, and Nicholas Gold was extremely proud of the progress Belle had made in becoming her old independent self. She would never be the same girl who helped out in his shop after class while working on her college applications, but she had still bloomed into something beautiful, made even more so by the extreme circumstances she had overcome. Belle amazed him on a daily basis with her tenacity and inner strength; she hadn’t once talked of giving up as she went through sessions with Dr. Hopper and worked with him on her business plan. She’d needed a job, some source of income since she refused to stay with him any longer than she deemed necessary, so he’d helped her find something about which she was passionate, the way he was with his shop full of antiques and precious objects brimming with stories. In the end, she’d chosen stories to be her career, as well; with the library closed, the town was in desperate need of a bookstore, and Belle was just the girl to run it.

Nick had taught her everything he knew about business, providing details on loans and contracts and helping her find suppliers. He’d let her choose from a number of his available properties and given her the best possible lease and loan agreement while still sticking to his business principles and not betraying his gruff image. Thus far, business had been booming, though it was hard to say whether it was because the _Tale as Old as Time_ bookstore was the first new shop to open in the town in years or because the woman rescued from the hospital basement owned it. Either way, they were both thrilled when she came in with her first set of repayments, the physical proof of her accomplishments and success.

He glanced at the clock on the wall and tried not to smile as the hands ticked five-o’clock. Today was the six month anniversary of the bookstore’s grand opening and Belle was due any moment; she’d wanted him to go over something in her books, and he’d agreed because he’d wanted an excuse to see her and offer congratulations in person on the success he knew she was achieving. In all honesty, when it came to Belle, he was inclined to agree to just about anything, though he would vehemently deny it should anyone ask.

His hand went to long, thin box hidden just under the edge of the counter, fingers wrapping around it just as the bell over the door signaled her arrival. Nick looked up, a smile curling at the corners of his mouth before turning to a frown at the sight of her own grim expression. “My dear, what is it?” he asked quietly, gently, a sense of foreboding creeping into the room like an unwelcome draft. “What’s wrong?”

Belle took a deep breath, her hands tightening on the strap of her satchel as if she needed to hold onto _something_ to keep from losing everything. The sight of her whitened knuckles was enough to make his heart constrict with fear. “There’s something I need to discuss with you.” She pulled out two notebook-style ledgers from her bag, one labeled with ‘Tale as Old as Time’ and the other with ‘Personal Expenses’. He has seen them both many times before, while teaching her how to keep her accounts in proper order while running a business – something precious few people in Storybrooke fully comprehended. But Belle had been a star pupil, and even now as she lay open the books, he could see everything was in meticulous order. So then why…

“I need to cut my personal expenses in half if I want to start having any sort of savings after bills and paying on my loans,” she began, smoothing out a slightly wrinkled page before folding her hands together tightly. She was nervous, and the unease flowed off her in waves. “As it is, I’m barely keeping my head above water, and if the town loses interest… I want to honor my agreements, and I wouldn’t dream of asking for an extension when you've been so wonderful about everything already.” 

She paused for a few brief seconds, long enough to grasp what little courage she could, but not enough for him to comment on the situation. “I need to move out of my apartment,” she continued quickly, the words falling so quickly from her lips that he couldn’t even think to get a word in edgewise. “I know there will be a penalty for breaking the lease, but I’m certain I have enough in my account to cover it. And my father has said before that I was always welcome to move back in with him, he has one of those couches that folds out into a bed in the living room. It’s not the most ideal situation, but I could save some money and focus on the shop—“

“Absolutely not.”

Belle stared at him as if he’d started speaking in Greek. “Sorry?”

Nick clenched his jaw and shook his head. “It’s not up for discussion,” he said tightly, waving a hand dismissively. 

“Excuse me, but I beg to differ,” she countered, pulling a file folder out of her bag and shuffling through the pages inside. “It’s clearly stated in our contract—“

“I’m not talking about the fucking contract.” She had never heard him use such language before. It seemed such a stark contrast to his usual composed self in a pinstriped suit. “I didn’t pull you out of that hell to send you back to the monster that put you there to begin with,” he practically snarled, shoving away from the counter and through the curtained doorway to the back room. Belle stared in shock as he retreated to his sanctuary, then hurriedly followed after to find him stalking among the tables and shelves laden with objects of which she knew very little.

“But he’s my _father_ ,” she insisted, trying not to see his reason, but it simply hurt too much to ignore. “What he did to me was horrible, yes, and Archie won’t like it one bit, but…” Desperation laced itself through her words as it wrapped around her very soul. “I don’t _have_ anyone else, Mr. Gold.”

He stopped his pacing to turn to her, staring right through her, at her, into her with piercing eyes. “It’s Nicholas,” he corrected, “and you have me.”

Belle set aside the sheaf of papers she was still holding, placing them on a nearby surface she didn’t even so much as glance at. They didn’t matter now, nothing mattered except whatever this man was trying to say. “I don’t understand.”

“My dear, you deserve so much better than this life you have had thrust upon you by others,” he explained kindly, adjusting his grip on his cane in a fidgeting manner. He wasn’t used to speaking of things such as this, but this was important and needed to be said. “If you will let me, I will do everything in my power to help you overcome these difficulties so you never have to rely on that many for anything again, father or not. Please don’t put yourself back in that position; I fear it would undo all you have accomplished this past year, and I couldn’t bear to see it.”

Tears welled up in her eyes as it all sank in, and she pressed the back of a hand to her mouth to try and keep from outright crying. It didn’t work. The drops ran down her cheeks as she stepped forward to wrap him in a tight hug, feeling his own arm come up to return to the embrace. “ _Thank you_ , Nicholas,” she whispered in his ear, the soft ends of his hair tickling her cheek. “Thank you so much for everything.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m so sorry this story hasn’t been updated in a whole month! I lost my notebook with half this chapter and many others, became consumed with other projects, and finally found the lost notebook, resulting in this chapter. I hope it was worth the wait!


	11. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is dedicated to darcyvondayum, for being so adorable and supportive, and to midstorm, for creating wonderfully inspiring graphic works.

  
_“How to be brave_  
How can I love when I'm afraid to fall  
But watching you stand alone  
All of my doubt suddenly goes away somehow.” 

~ Christina Perri “A Thousand Years”

The counters were absolutely coated with flour. Bits of drying batter clung to the bottoms of the cabinets, and he was fairly certain there was frosting in his ear. The smoke had cleared out of the kitchen by the time the third batch of cupcakes was ready to come out of the oven, but the acrid smell still hung in the air, obscuring the evidence of whether this dozen had fared any better than the others. Regrettably, Nick Gold’s first solo foray into the world of baking had not gone quite as anticipated.

How did Belle make it look so easy?

They had baked together on numerous occasions over the course of their relationship, with Belle instructing him on what to do and keeping a watchful eye while he did it, but he'd never realized the precision that was required with baking, or just how troublesome 'exact times may vary' could be. His oven, a top of the line model he'd purchased a few months earlier to complete the renovation of his kitchen, apparently burned hot, an attribute he had failed to notice in his recent culinary efforts. He'd looked away for only a minute (or five) to scrutinize the cookbook's recipe for the Italian meringue buttercream and ascertain whether he actually possessed the correct tools to even attempt the feat of making it, and when he'd opened the oven door to look upon what he'd thought would be glossy, firm-yet-moist chocolate cupcakes, he'd instead been greeted by a great plume of black smoke, followed shortly by a smoke alarm trilling its annoying song.

He was thanking the heavens that he'd had the foresight to start this godforsaken project in the early morning hours, thinking that the actual decoration of the cupcakes might give him a little trouble and need a tad bit extra work. If he'd known the culinary hurricane that was to come, he would have made the blasted things the night before!

It was after six hours of slaving away in the kitchen (he fully appreciated that saying now) that he finally had one single cupcake that wasn't dry as a cracker or burnt to a crisp, that he'd managed to insert the chocolate ganache without having it explode out the other end, and that actually had a smooth buttercream topping. There may have been a bit too much of the chocolate shavings dusted over the frosting, but his Belle adored chocolate, so that was perfectly alright. He even had just enough time for a quick shower before wrapping up the gift (the easiest part of the entire debacle) and heading to the bookshop to escort his lady to lunch.

\---

Belle knew without looking who had just walked into her shop; she knew the muffled sound of his shoes, the slight echoing thud of his cane on the carpet, the silence that accompanied his arrival as he waited for her to finish what she was doing. Any other person would have greeted her, despite seeing that she was up to her eyeballs in a pile of books behind the counter, but he knew what it was to be distracted in the middle of work and would give her all the time that she needed to finish. (He was less patient when she was simply reading a book, because he knew that she could very easily spend hours reading if left undisturbed and not notice even if the store robbed.) 

She finished checking off the shipping invoice in comparison to what had actually arrived and set down the pen and paper before turning to face the gorgeous man standing in front of the counter and holding an elaborately wrapped white and gold box. A huge grin was her reaction, but she quickly schooled her expression into something ever so slightly sterner. “Nick, you know I don’t like making a big deal about my birthday,” she reminded him gently, stepping around the counter to stand before him.

The man smiled enough to crinkle his features in that way she absolutely adored and replied, “Sweetheart, if I wanted to make a ‘big deal’ of the occasion, I would have gotten you something from Tiffany, as you rightly deserve. As it is, I respect your wishes in this and all things, and so this is a ‘small deal’ only birthday.”

Belle regarded him with suspicion for all of three seconds before rolling her eyes in playfully exasperated defeat. “Okay, fine,” she said, taking the gift box and setting it on the counter carefully. For many past occasions, Nick had indulged her by adding to the collection of mismatched teacups scattered around both her apartment and her bookshop, and she fully expected to find another such item hidden within. The perfectly tied gold ribbon was gently tugged loose, the ivory wrapping paper reverently removed, and the lid opened with care to reveal… a cupcake resting inside a teacup.

“Nick,” she breathed, sparing a glance to see him watching her with eager expectation, though his hands were nearly white where they gripped at his cane. He was _nervous_. “Did you bake this yourself?” He had to have; it wasn't his style to pay someone to bake just one cupcake when he could have a whole dozen just as easily, and she was the one people in town turned to for baked goods, anyhow. She lifted the cupcake out of the tissue paper nest it and the teacup shared, and upon closer examination could see the telltale signs of a novice baker. Of course, because it was made with love, the thing could taste like sawdust and she would eat every bite with sincere joy.

“Go on, dearest,” his soft voice urged at her shoulder. “There’s more to see.”

“More, which I’m sure cost far too much money—“ she started to say, but the words caught in her throat as she started to lift out the teacup and she caught sight of the simple blue design on the white surface and the distinct chip in the rim. “But it’s… This is the teacup from the display case. My chipped cup.” 

Tears pooled in her eyes as she held the cup aloft over the cushioning of the tissue paper, terrified she would drop it as her hands trembled from the onslaught of emotion coursing through her. She had adored this cup for so many years, since the months she’d spent working as an assistant in his shop when she was still in school, before the darkness in her life. She’d dreamed of this cup during her time in the mental ward, of dropping it to cause that chip, of watching the mysterious Mr. Gold drink his tea from it. And now, after all this time, after all the hours of begging and teasing for him to sell it to her… 

She turned to him with a question on her lips, but every thought in her mind fled at the sight of him down on one knee, a hand outstretched to catch the teacup as it slipped from her hands as she brought them up to press at her mouth. “My sweet Belle,” he began with a smile, cradling the cup in his long, thin fingers, “’It’s just a cup.’ That’s what I have said time and again when you’ve pleaded with me to relinquish this teacup into your care. But you see, dear, I was wrong. It is so much more than that.” His eyes never left hers, but she could see his fingertips tracing the chipped edge, mindful of the sharp places he knew by memory. “This cup is us, a physical representation of our relationship. Though fragile and damaged, it is still whole, and made more beautiful by its imperfection. This cup is your heart, my love, and I will care for it as I have this cup, for the rest of my life.

Belle felt her heart would stop beating entirely when he set the teacup aside, out of harm’s way, and pulled a small black box out of his jacket pocket. A ring box. The tears slipped from her eyes and her breath hitched as he opened it, revealing a simple but perfectly elegant diamond ring. 

“I admit I may have stretched the truth a little in saying it’s not a big occasion,” he continued, his hands shaking as they held the tiny box with it’s expensive treasure. “I apologize for that my dear, and I promise it won't happen again. But you see, just this once I felt it was warranted."

She lowered her hands, still clasping them together on her chest, and shook her head, her voice wavering. "Nicholas, I --"

He interrupted in a strong but gentle tone, heading off any protests she might have at the gesture. "Lacey Isabelle French, you are the best thing to come into my life in all my many days, and I would spend the rest of them with you, if only you would have me. My dearest Belle, will you be my wife?"

Belle didn’t pause to think for even a second before she was on her knees as well, flinging her arms around him as she answered, “Yes!” There had never been any question in her mind that she would gladly spend her life with Nicholas Gold, if only _he_ would have _her_. And now it looked like she would finally have that happy ending he’d always said she deserved.

If only she’d known. Happy endings never last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think, dear readers? ❤


	12. Chapter Nine

  
_“But what if I fail of my purpose here? It is but to keep the nerves at strain,  
to dry one’s eyes and laugh at a fall, and baffled, get up and begin again.”_

~ Robert Browning

Belle French stared at Granny’s Diner from her place across the street, taking a series of deep breaths and mentally preparing herself for the task at hand. She was going to tell Ruby about the engagement today, and she really wasn’t sure at all how her friend would take it.

Really, to say she was nervous would be an understatement. While Belle had managed to finally convince Ruby (after many long months) that Nicholas Gold wasn’t an evil person who was only out to use her for his own pleasure (said pleasure was equally divided between them, thank you very much) and then toss her aside, her friend still wasn’t her fiancé’s biggest fan. It had become standard practice to leave out any sordid details of her love life during their regular girl nights, and she knew Nick rather preferred it that way actually, with the way he valued his privacy – she was sure it had something to do with wanting to keep his reputation as a coldhearted businessman, as anything less would likely be bad for business, but he would never admit it. 

Belle laughed quietly to herself at the memory of his Nick’s tough guy exterior had completely melted away the night before when they’d had dinner with the Hua family. Eastern Garden had been closed for the occasion to allow the whole family to sit down and enjoy a meal together; it had been a perfect evening. She was certain that Professor Hua had given Nick the talk when the women had gone off to the kitchen together, but her fiancé was tight-lipped about whatever had been said between them, and things had been downright jolly the rest of the evening. It had been a real relief, honestly. 

Without giving herself further time to think about what she was doing, the young woman marched herself across the street and straight into the diner, weaving her way through the early breakfast crowd to get to the only empty place at the counter. She waved at her friend as Ruby dropped off a stack of orders with the kitchen, her bright red outfit standing out in the dim little diner in a way that was almost comforting. “Hey, Belle! You’re not usually here in the mornings,” the waitress commented as she set a large blue mug in front of her friend. “Coffee?” She didn’t even wait for an answer before beginning to pour, already knowing Belle never passed up coffee before noon. 

“Thanks,” Belle responded. “Actually, I came in because there’s something I wanted to talk to you about…”

“Ruby, I could use a refill down here!” called a voice from the other end of the counter, belonging to a bleary-eyed Dr. Whale who looked to have had a little too much to drink the night before, which certainly wasn’t anything new. Ruby rolled her eyes before moving to comply with the request, which was quickly followed by more refills and checks that needed settling and orders that needed filling. In the midst of all the chaos were repeated attempts of Belle trying to steal away her friend’s attention for just a minute to deliver the news, but every time she tried to start the conversation, something interrupted them. The whole ordeal was taking so long, her meager courage was beginning to wane and the front door was beginning to be a real temptation. She could always tell Ruby later, there really wasn’t any rush—

No. No no no. She was telling her, and she was telling her now.

“Ruby!” she called as the woman passed to give another round of coffee refills to those sitting at the counter. “Ruby! Nick _proposed_ yesterday!”

The young woman behind the counter froze mid-pour, her eyes wide and fixed on Belle as the chatter around them hushed, everyone in the crowded diner invested in this new bit of information about the man who owned the town and the woman he loved. Ruby managed to shake herself out of the stupor half a second before the good doctor’s mug could overflow, though she nearly splashed him with the steaming liquid anyway as she swung around to hurriedly crash the carafe back into the coffee station. “He what!” she screeched, brown and bright red hair flying as she grabbed the edge of the counter in front of Belle, who simply held up her left hand in response, the glittering stone on her finger catching the light beautifully.

“And you said yes,” Ruby breathed, her jaw hanging loose and her knuckles whitening where she clutched the counter. “ _You said yes._ ”

Chewing nervously on her lower lip, the woman in question could only nod in confirmation as she waited for what she assumed was an inevitable lecture on how she was making a mistake, one she would undoubtedly hear when her father finally caught wind of the engagement as well. And then Ruby let out a long breath, deflating like a leaky balloon. “You’re getting married.” 

Well, it wasn’t a lecture or screaming outrage, and she wasn’t marching out the door toward the pawnshop, so all in all, things could be a lot worse. “I’m getting married,” Belle repeated, a bit in awe of it herself. Wrapping her hands around the oversized mug full of warm coffee, she hesitantly asked, “Are we okay?” She would never ask permission from anyone to marry the man she loved, but she knew that there was bound to be someone who would sever ties because of the relationship, and she felt it much better to have things out in the open than have friendships crumble later on. Of course, that was her brave outlook on things, when really she was terrified of losing even more people she cared about simply because they refused to try to understand.

The smile that graced Ruby’s lips was like the first glimpse of the sun at dawn, bringing hope of a new day with new possibilities. “Only if I get to help plan this party,” the red woman informed Belle before turning to grab an omelet that needed delivering. “And we’re going dress shopping next weekend!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry it’s been ages since the last chapter! More should be coming much sooner, because we’ve finally reached Emma’s grand entrance.


	13. Chapter Ten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m not dead, I promise! Just incredibly busy and overworked. But hopefully it won’t take another two months to unveil the next chapter.

  
_“The rain began again. It fell heavily, easily, with no meaning or intention_

but the fulfillment of its own nature, which was to fall and fall.” 

~ Helen Garner

_“Now, what’s the name?”_

_“Swan, Emma Swan.”_

_“Emma… What a lovely name.”_

With a smirk on his face and a wad of money in his pocket. Rumplestiltskin left the dilapidated inn run by werewolves, a feeling of sheer giddiness rising in his as he stepped out into a cool breeze and a warm patch of sunlight. 

A land without magic. The land to which his son had fled so many years ago. He’d made it; the curse had succeeded, as had his efforts at engraving the savior’s name into his very soul. The man turned imp turned man again gazed around him at this both strange and familiar world and struggled to reconcile one set of memories with another.

Regina was the self-appointed mayor of the town, ruling over her little kingdom for the better part of three decades. Oh what fun she must have had with all those years of the same monotonous routine; it was no wonder she’d grasped hold of the idea of having a child, for life was never boring when playing the role of parent. The Charmings were separated, as were many of the other royal families, thanks to Regina’s ban on happy endings.

And Belle. Oh gods, Belle was really alive and whole and here and… in love with Gold. This battered shadow of a woman he knew was in love with his cursed self, and while those feelings were completely mutual, it wasn’t right. How was he supposed to look her in the eye, knowing that Belle herself wasn’t choosing to be with him, just this Lacey who knew only Nicholas Gold and nothing of the monster Rumplestiltskin. After the things he’d said to her, the way he cast her aside as if she _didn’t matter_ … 

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, feeling nothing more than an old man in a suit and checkered shirt, a man with too much money and little that really mattered. All of that would change once he found his son, he would change, but for now… there was something he needed to do.

\---

Belle French was humming to herself as she waltzed from her bedroom and into the bathroom, a half-remembered tune to accompany the act of twisting her hair up, half of it hanging loose in a waterfall of curls that needed just a little help from her trusty iron to stay perfectly shaped. She’d been experimenting with her hair for over an hour, trying different styles featured in the numerous bridal magazines Ruby had showered her with the day before, amidst their afternoon of wedding planning and dress shopping. Belle decided she rather liked this style, it looked natural while still having a spark of refinement, though the real test would be to try it with the dress she’d found and purchased in the same day. 

It was crazy, she knew, even Ruby had thought so, to buy the first dress she’d tried on without even looking at another, but it had been _perfect_. The small part of her that had always dreamed of her wedding day, as young girls did, had fallen for the gown at first sight, with everything else paling in comparison. A fitting had commenced right away, for the dress in-store was available for purchase and was just her size, and while she and Nick hadn’t yet set a date, this way they wouldn’t have to wait on a dress of all things…

A knocking at the door pulled her from the thoughts of layers of lace and delicate pearl earrings to match her mother’s necklace. She glanced at the little clock on the counter and frowned; he was early. That was odd; he usually arrived precisely on time for date nights when they went out. There must be something he wanted to talk about before they left for the restaurant, she concluded, turning off the curling iron and setting it aside.

She couldn’t not beam a smile at her fiancé standing on the other side of the door, looking ever the proper businessman in his designer suit with his hair inviting her to run her fingers through it. “Come on in,” she said between grins, closing the door behind him. “Let me guess, you’ve got something on your mind and that’s why you’re so incredibly early tonight.”

He looked visibly startled at her words, which was a tiny bit confusing, but didn’t faze her too much. “How did you know?”

“Because I know you better than you know yourself, my dear Nicholas,” she quipped with a smirk, reaching up to adjust one of the pins in her hair. 

If anything, that only seemed to make his frown deepen. “Is that so,” he murmured, clenching his hand around the handle of his cane. There was something in the way he looked at her, the way his eyes lingered on the lines of her face before sliding away, as if it was something he wasn’t supposed to be doing, a stolen glimpse of something he longed for but couldn’t have. It was the oddest thing to see, and it made no sense. A sigh followed his words, weary and deep, and he eased himself down into an armchair. “Ms. French, we need to talk.”

The words, the name he used, the tone of voice… It was like a river of ice in her veins, like someone reaching out to physically grasp her heart and twist it with all their might. “Why are you calling me that?” she asked in a strained whisper, stopping a few feet from the chair he’d chosen, but she remained standing. While standing, she had just a speck of power – the moment she sat, she would turn into a victim, and she would never be a victim again. Not even with the love of her life.

“It’s your name, dearie, what else would I call you?” he tossed back carelessly, the way he spoke with everyone else. But he wasn't that way with her; he never had been, not even all those years ago when she’d worked in his shop. He’d never been _hurtful_.

Her left hand reached out for something, anything on which to steady herself, and after a step backward she found another chair, grasping the high curve of the back so tightly that her knuckles whitened. Her voice trembled as she insisted, “Belle, you call me Belle. You’ve called me Belle for as long as I care to remember.” Panic was rising in her chest, filling her throat so it was hard to breathe around the sickening taste. 

He winced. She watched the pain flicker across his expression, further creasing the lines there and terrifying her at the same time. “This can’t go on any longer,” he said, sidestepping her words with his frigid tone. “We aren’t meant for each other, dearie, and lying to ourselves about it won’t do any good.”

Shaking her head frantically, she looked away from him, trying to find some hint that this was nothing more than a terrible nightmare from which she would soon awake. “But you _proposed_. You said you wanted to spend your life with me. You said you _loved_ me.”

“I was wrong.” There was a finality in the words that could not be ignored. 

This was a dream. It had to be. This wasn’t supposed to happen. She was supposed to be _happy_ … “Get out,” she breathed, her eyes unfocused as she tried to simply keep from falling apart in front of the man who was breaking her heart.

He let out a deep breath and stood, taking a step toward the door before pausing to glance back at her. “Ms. French—“

“ _Get out!_ ” she screamed, the words ripping themselves from her throat, sharp enough to cut, but the only one feeling any pain seemed to be the speaker herself, for her knight in shining armor just turned and walked away. When the door clicked shut behind him it was as if she were a puppet whose strings had been cut; she crumpled to the floor, not caring that her new skirt tore at the hem, that her knees scraped on the hardwood. Nothing mattered beyond the pure agony that threatened to destroy her soul.

She didn’t move until the next morning, letting the darkness consume her as she cried and dreamed of a cell with stonewalls and a harsh voice echoing through the night.


End file.
